


The Scent of Rain

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Romance, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim experiences Blair in the rain with all his senses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scent of Rain

## The Scent of Rain

by Bluesky

The Sentinel and its characters do not belong to me. They are owned by Pet Fly and Paramount. No copyright infringement was intended by the author.

With much thanks to Bluewolf, Scribe and yes, to Caro, who encouraged me and let me play with her vision and idea. All of them helped make this a much better story than it started out to be. Thank you all kindly!   
Note from Caro Dee: This piece expands on my story, Rain, showing Jim's POV during the chase scene. Bluesky wrote this so beautifully that I'm proud to include this as part of my Insatiable series. I know you will enjoy it as well.   


This is a companion piece to Caro Dee's Rain from Jim's POV.

* * *

I leave the slightly musty tent behind, like a butterfly escaping a cocoon, reveling in the freedom of no clothing, of raw power, of simply being. I toss a challenge to Blair and take flight, feeling as sure-footed as a large hunting cat. I smell the scent of mountain run-off water not far off, and am drawn to it. It is older and colder than the falling rain, bringing a part of the mountain with it. Limestone, mountain-grown moss, the ozone scent of melting snow, the echo of lightening and storm. 

The feel of wind and rain is a caress. I feel it pool and run down my body, stealing my heat until it is almost warm as it runs off my body, down my legs, across my sex. Wind teases my nipples, dances between my legs, urges my body to run. Rain drips from my hair, carrying the scent of my shampoo, of dead skin being sloughed away by the slightly acid rain to reveal new skin, a new me. 

I hear a soft thud behind me, the last of Blair's clothing hitting the floor of the tent, and the tattoo of his feet pounding after me. The chase has been joined, and it is all that I can do not to turn, to meet him. 

But that is not part of my non-plan. I am driven by instinct, and the sound of Blair's panting breath and pounding feet behind me. I stretch out my senses and even as he is left farther behind, he is closer to me, his heartbeat pounding in my ears, the scent of his sweat coming to me on the rain and wind--the overall smell of my Guide. I hold it to me, wrapping it around me like the wind and rain as I run. 

The grass yields, the earth gives beneath my tread. Long grass rasps along my legs, leaving shallow nicks and stinging cuts and the sharp, clean scent of chlorophyll. A faint mix of powder blown off butterfly wings, the pollen of trees, grass, and flowers are washed by rain out of the air into my eyes, and I blink at the fine grit. Water runs off the trees, carrying the smells of leaves, resin, wood, bark, and unripe fruits and berries. 

I hardly notice. There is a space calling me, richer and sweeter, redolent in scent. The smell of water, of wet rocks rich in iron and traces of gold and zinc. Stones are laid out like a path before me, flat smooth places to place my feet, under the swift, cold flowing water. I am not daunted by the near ice cold, snow melt mixed with rain swelling the shallow creek, no deeper than my shins. 

And the meadow... bright promise in the fine mist of rain, hints of light from behind the clouds casting an ethereal glow. This is the place that was calling. Honeysuckle wraps around the trees, bringing a sweetness, the sharp scent of wild flowers mixed with grass and loam. 

The grass beckons, soft and free of any sharp or harmful thing. It is made for lying in, rolling in, loving in. The long, soft blades, new and tender, invite me closer. The wild, sharp scent of tiny strawberries comes to me. The ground is dotted with them, and small yellow and blue flowers give up their perfume as I brush by them, the softness of each petal stroking the soles and sides of my feet. I reach out and cup a minute blossom between my finger and thumbnail, looking into the micro perfection of the pistils, the cup of the flower well. 

In the distance I hear a splashing--Blair is coming. He has found the marks that I deliberately left for him at the vee in the path. My pride and love for him swells. He is coming for me. I must make myself a proper offering. 

The ground is waterlogged--the grass too thick to let the mud rise up. It is a spongy couch that holds me as I carefully lie down flat, floating on the pad of grass. I open wide to the rain, to the air, to the light, to... 

Blair. He is racing into the glade, mist flowing over him, pouring off of him. The heat of his breath is a vapor as he pants from his exertions, his pursuit of me. 

Thrilled to the core, I watch as Blair searches for me. Watch with approval my lover's hunger, his arousal. He is beautiful like this, aroused by the thrill of the chase, by his need for me. 

I wait for Blair--everything in me inviting, crying out for him. If Blair comes to me, plays the pursuer, perhaps he will allow this to happen. Perhaps this once the rules can be broken. Just this once. I need so much... Please, let him need... 

I am all yielding and open--temptation, I hope. I pray his need is equal to mine, that he will forget and indulge himself, and me. My cock twitches, full ripe and hard, stirring on my belly, like a lure to hook a very tasty fish. I sense his pheromones, his arousal rising. He is taking the bait. 

There is a rush of warm air carrying his fragrance before him. His hair is still perfumed by the scent of last night's fire, of his shampoo, of just him. I admire it as it drapes over his face and shoulders, not yet plastered by the weight of the rain. 

His eyes-oh, his eyes. His eyes are narrowed in his need, and against the rain--to see without his glasses. In what seems like slow motion to me, he moves, stalking, running, walking, all without talking, words less needed than the clothing he has left behind. 

Mesmerized, I watch. My Guide licks his lips, moving toward me. His need is great, perhaps as great as mine. He drops to his knees, sending micro shocks through the rain-soaked earth, vibrating into my body, my very sensitive ass. There is just a moment to savor this, then his hot mouth is on mine, tasting of rain, of pine, of Blair, of the cedar pencil he had been chewing on earlier, of coffee, of lunch, of tea, of... 

Passion. His need. I am drowning in him as he is ravaging me, hands grasping me. Thrashing, the two of us are locked thigh-to-thigh, cock-to-cock. Blair is here, pouring himself over me. His mouth is hot on mine. 

His cool flesh, chilled by rain and warmed by his exertions, presses hard, harder against my body. His peaked nipples and near frigid nipple ring lying amid the soft springy mat of hair on his chest provoke a myriad individual sensations against my near hairless torso. His furred groin presses against mine. His eyes bore into me, possessive as I have seldom seen him. I know that he is claiming me, owning me--raw, primal, and NOW. For a moment there is a fear on my part, a pang of something. Is this how it felt to him when I was so out of control? So needing? Need on need, we two struggle on as one. Blair's actions have given me permission to reach and hold on, giving and taking pleasure in our wild passion. I struggle to dial it down, to filter out his cry of need and fulfillment. 

There is no time for any such thought. He is looming above me, riding me, hot slick flesh and friction. I am lost to his hands, his cock, his passion, his need--my need to be claimed. My hands are cupping, grasping, holding. Too hard for both of us. His climax is a shuddering, shaking abandonment, and I am lost. Moments later, grinding up, head back, I have to close my eyes against the rain, against the sight of my love, and simply be. I am helpless in this moment, unable to still my cry, unable to control anything about this. I can only ride this out. 

As he shivers with his release, his hot spend geysering, it speeds my own completion, our come mingling, hot trails of fluid held between us like a promise. My body shakes with aftershocks, and I am helpless as each hair on his chest caresses me, the breath out of his mouth ghosting over my shoulders and chest, dancing along my neck and ears, tendrils of touch that is still too much on my over-excited flesh. I have to work at dialing it down. Blair senses this and slides down beside me, not breaking all contact but letting me wind down at my own speed--grounding me, holding me. Drawing out and letting go. Till at last... 

So good. I lie back, Blair sprawled half on my body, warming me. The rain falls all around us. He slides to the side and holds me. I am drained for the moment, all of the secret, hidden, forbidden sexual gratifications have never been as fulfilling as this. I lie back, and the rain washes over us. I am content, and drained, and filled at the same time. 

My hands slide over my lover's body, and I can feel the slight heat where there will be bruises later. I have no regret for the bruises that we have left on one another, the marking that is part of the claiming. 

His shivering is the trigger. I urge him up, and we stand briefly, warm body parts reacclimatizing to the chill of the rain. Cold always affects him more, and I hug him, holding, rubbing his arms. Our eyes meet, and he nods. It is time to return to our tent. 

The way back seems shorter somehow, instead of longer. It is still daylight, but evening birds are calling, unseen. They have the good sense to stay in their warm, safe nests. 

We walk arm in arm, as much to hold on to the feeling as to keep warm. Blair's teeth are chattering by the time we leave the stream. The last part of the path to the camp is taken at a run, as the rain has gotten harder, and colder. 

Blair looks in dismay at the open tent fly. Water has soaked the tent floor near the door, and the bottoms of our sleeping bags are sopping. I reach in and get our clothing and shoes. Then, I close the zipper to save anything not yet soaked. 

For a change the truck is nearby, and I pull him over to it and we get in. I turn on the truck and after a few minutes we get heat. We take turns drying off and putting on clothing. Blair is truly cold, and as much as the sight of him naked is a turn on, I cannot bear the sight of him shivering. I pull out the old, soft blanket from behind the seat and wrap it around him. 

The heat on high, and dressed, we fall into a relaxed cuddle--my arm around him, his head on my chest. I flip the radio on, low, to the oldies station. My Karma has been very, very good. A Doors tune. "You ask me why I love you... why do ships with sails love the wind?" 

The once gentle rain is pounding harder, sheeting over the windshield, lightening flashing on and off in the distance. Seconds later the static shock arrives, then the sound. 

Hours of stakeouts have passed like this--Blair and I in this truck, back when it was a guilty pleasure to indulge in Blair watching, Blair stalking. This is so much better. 

Blair turns his head to me, his mouth up close to my ear. I can hear his belly starting to rumble. Cooking is going to be a problem, even with the gas cook stove. I am starting to formulate a plan, when.... 

"I'm bored," Blair breathes into my ear, Sentinel soft, and so sincere. 

* * *

End The Scent of Rain by Bluesky: desidera21@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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